Why Are You Surprised?
by Kairikiani
Summary: Yuri x Estelle     Rated T for alcohol references.


This came to me while I was plotting out a long term story. I don't have time to do the whole story, but you can kind of see where it would go anyway. Well, okay, actually you can't because at no point do I hint about the Karol's conspiracy theories, the nobles' pinning the assassination attempt on Yuri, or Sodia's almost death, but you can kind of see the genre. Um...if anyone wants to write that by the way, go ahead, you have my permission to use this one-shot as a challenge-thingy. The point is this fic has no point. It has no imminent significance whatsoever, unless somebody somewhere enjoys reading angst.

* * *

Most men would have given their left arm to be in Yuri's position: Boots propped up on the bar, a large mug of ale in each hand, and surrounded by eight-no, nine _very_ friendly women. Women who hung on Yuri's every word. Women who didn't mind sharing.

Yet Yuri was not most men. He was just one man: one man who was very frustrated at how little his conscience was letting him enjoy his night off. It was the same voice that had him swiveling his head every time the bar door opened in case it was someone he knew. The same voice that wondered how his alcohol intake would affect his combat if an emergency came up. The same voice that wouldn't stop whispering her name.

Estelle, of course, had no feasible way of knowing what Yuri was doing tonight. She was probably fast asleep in the castle, hundreds of miles away. And no one in the bar who knew Yuri personally, so there was little chance Estelle would come across tonight's exploits by word of mouth. He hadn't even done anything wrong…yet. All he'd done was drink and tell tales of his adventures to an admiring crowd. Nope. Nothing shady from Yuri. Nothing at all. And he had the horrible, sneaking realization that it was going to stay that way.

It wasn't that he wasn't…_interested_ in his fans. They were all minimally clothed, generously endowed, and definitely single. Some even understood his tangents on blastia and combat artes. But every time he got a good look in one of their faces, he was struck by their utter lack of…of...something. And then Estelle was looking back at him, smiling softly, disappointed but not really surprised. And instead of having the time of his life, Yuri just felt dirty.

* * *

Yuri woke up with the worst headache he'd had in four years. It felt like someone had soaked his sword in ice water for an hour and then plunged it into his skull. Yuri tried taking deep breaths, but inhaling only sharpened the pain. He then tried holding his breath, but that only brought his attention to the disturbingly sticky quality of his shirt. He shifted a little, and realized that his whole body was lying in a syrupy…something.

Yuri wondered if seeing what he was lying in would make him feel better or worse, and then opened his eyes anyway. He hissed softly and clenched them shut again, while flashes of light exploded behind his eyelids. After a minute he slowly opened one eye, then the next. His vision took a few seconds to adjust, after which Yuri realized he was still inside the bar from last night. Sharp white light flooded in through the windows, reflecting off the broken mugs and puddles of beer on the floor to fill the room with migraine-inducing illumination. Yuri lifted his head with considerable effort and thanked Lady Luck that he was lying in one of those puddles of beer, rather than something less sanitary, like blood.

He used one of the stools to haul himself up to an upright position, and then staggered over to the nearest mirror. Yuri had a pink handprint on his cheek, which he vaguely remembered belonged to one of his "fans". She hadn't taken rejection too well. Besides that, though, his body showed no signs of violence.

Yuri fumbled through the pack at his waist and plucked out an apple gel, which he then popped in his mouth. It was a little chewier than usual, but it did the job. Yuri watched as the handprint faded to a normal skin color. He still had the bloodshot eyes and pale skin that would tell any observant passerby that he was hung over, but Yuri figured he had enough strength left to walk through the city without incident. If he stuck to the back lanes and didn't look anyone in the eye, he might even make it to his room at the inn without anyone recognizing him.

A rectangle of white caught his eye. He pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and read:

_Yuri Lowell_

_ Tab: 53 gald_

_ Courtesy of Bartender Ted_

He crumpled the paper up and tossed it in the nearest waste basket. Geez, what kind of bartender just left his customers passed out on the floor? What if Yuri had had alcohol poisoning, or there had been thieves about? Come to think of it, the bartender hadn't even bothered to stay and guard his wares. If Yuri wanted to grab a shot for the road, no one was around to object. No, that probably wasn't a good idea. It would take the edge off of his hangover, true, but somehow getting drunk before noon didn't appeal to Yuri's sense of pride. Plus, there was a difference between putting a drink on your tab and stealing it from under the bartender's nose. It wasn't a big difference, but it was enough.

Not that Yuri intended to pay the 53 gald. As he looked around the abandoned bar in full daylight, Yuri realized that the tavern's poor lighting wasn't just to set the mood. The floor was littered with wet napkins and bread crumbs, while the tables had too many beer stains to count. Most of the stools were leaking stuffing, and some of them were missing a leg. Yuri didn't mind if a bar had a bit of character, but the mess, the bartender's negligence, and the hair shriveling smell coming from the back room ensured that he would never be coming here again.

Outside, the sun was already high overhead, which meant that Yuri had been lying in a puddle of beer for a better part of the day. Nearly half the city seemed to be packed into the square; droves of tourists swarmed the market place, clustering around produce stalls and the young members of the Baticul Brigade. Boys dressed in the guild's trademark blue shorts were stationed throughout the square, handing out leaflets to as many people as they could.

"Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Dignitaries from beyond the sea-"

"Papers here! Get your papers! Get the latest gossip from Dahngrest Daily-"

Yuri could barely walk three feet without being shoved or pushed. A spidery woman in an oversized hat practically threw him aside to ask a nearby merchant if he would accept silver coins. Between the stench of the crowd, the yelling, and the sunlight searing his eyes, the only thing keeping Yuri from losing his temper was the promise of a clean, cool pillow waiting for him at the inn.

"Hey Mister! Mister!" A small hand reached up to tug on Yuri's shirt. A uniformed boy around Karol's age fished one of the leaflets out of his pack. "Mister, didja here the news? For two silver-"

"Yeah, I heard the news."

The boy blinked up at him in surprise. "Really? But ya don't have a paper."

Yuri motioned towards the nearest crowd of gossips. "In case you haven't noticed, it's not exactly a secret."

"Ain't it exciting, though? A real live royal wedding! With lobsters and chandyleers and everything." The boy leaned in conspiratorially. "I hear princess Estellise is even inviting the guild leaders. If I sell 'nough papers, boss says I could be one of his enteerage. In a couple months I'm gonna be chowin' on steak and taters with the nobles. I might even get _adopted_."

"Congratulations," Yuri said drily. He stepped around the boy and began trudging down the street. The boy trotted alongside him through the crowd.

"Only thing is, we're gonna hafta do most of the research there. The royal family's keepin' all the juicy details to themselves. On account a _security_." The boy rolled his eyes, spitting out the word "security" with the same contempt Yuri had for words like "protocol" and "taxes". "They won't even tell us the prince's name."

Yuri slowed his pace slightly and reminded himself to keep his face disinterested and slack. "How do you know it's a prince?"

The boy squinted at Yuri as if the man had tried to pay for a paper with buttons. "Are you daft? She's royalty. Why would she marry anybody BUT a prince?"

Yuri let out a deep bark of a laugh in spite of himself. Maybe the alcohol had scrambled his brains a little more than he thought, if he needed a runt like this to remind him of something that obvious. Then again, Yuri was always a little surprised when people acted exactly like they were supposed to.

* * *

How was that? Was the ending too quick? I originally had it like this:

_Then again, Yuri had grown up in a world where soldiers attacked the defenseless, politicians broke the law and the criminals cleaned the streets. A world where children saved the knights, thieves punished gods, and princesses smiled at scoundrels. A world where people forgot the rules of fairytales and made their own. So he was always a little surprised when people acted exactly like they were supposed to. _

But I thought it was too cheesy and that it didn't fit with the tone of the rest of the piece.

Comments and constructive criticism are always welcome.


End file.
